Among the Living
by kaleidoscope heart
Summary: I thought being among the dead would be something new and thrilling… I was wrong. Take it from someone who’s been living with ghosts for a thousand years: the after life is easy. It’s living that’ll kill you. RLNT


**AN: This was written for the All Hallows Moon ficathon at Metamorficmoon on livejournal where it won for the mystery/suspense genre (I'm as shocked as you are). As I said when I first posted this: this is probably the strangest thing I've ever written. And yes, that is saying something. :)**

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_**Among the Living**_

You'd think life among the dead would be at least a little exciting, what with all the unknown things and questions that suddenly become answered. At least that's what I thought anyway, before ending up here. I spent forty years living with witches and wizards, listening to their problems and taking in their mistakes. I thought being among the dead would be something new and thrilling… at the very least a touch more stimulating for someone of my obvious intelligence. I was wrong. Take it from someone who's been living with ghosts for a thousand years: the after life is easy. It's living that'll kill you.

The living think they know everything. How would I know, right? I guess it's true that I've never technically been alive, being a supposed inanimate object and all. But I know enough about their worries and fears to take up ten wizard's lifetimes. All that concern about being adequate or having enough gold or what other wizards thought of them... so silly and inconsequential in the scheme of things. The only wizard I ever respected was my master, and I suppose this is partially due to gratefulness (he is the reason I exist) and admiration for his strong determination and honesty with his emotions. My master had baser fears than the other wizards, concerning himself more with the future of his kind rather than what would please the majority. Unfortunately it is those very ideals that have landed me where I am today, in a run down muggle mansion with only the dead to keep me company. That's the living for you. They may be more exciting, but that's only because they're constantly stirring up trouble.

Today started out as all the others did, with me sitting high upon this dusty shelf with no stimulating company and nothing to occupy myself with. My lifetime has passed by in such a reluctant sort of laziness; I do nothing only because there is nothing to do. I used to hate like my master did, to pass the time, but even that is boring to me now. Unreturned hatred, like unrequited love, can't go on forever. Eventually in either case the feelings wane and weaken, and I felt myself stop caring about the impurity of mudbloods and muggleborns centuries ago. I occupy my time now with talking to the ghosts that occupy this muggle home and, much more often as of late, talking to myself. I find myself to be excellent company.

This morning was perfectly mundane. Dreary even, one might say. That was, until I heard the cry of a female voice shout from another room, "Where the hell is that buggering hat?" and everything got just a little more interesting.

The buggering hat in question is me, of course, though why anyone would be looking for me was something I couldn't fathom. It had to have been over thirty or forty years since someone had last come looking for me, and even then it had been only a young man looking to turn me into some sort of magical trophy. He had given me his name but I can't for the life of me remember it, and he had said he was the heir of my master who had finally come to free the purebloods from the impurity of all the muggleborns. I found this hard to believe and I told him so. The idea that the heir of Salazar Slytherin was some bitter teenager looking for immortality was a bit much all together.

He decided not to use me, for one reason or another, but he didn't destroy me. Instead he removed me from the secret chamber my master had created and brought me here, to this dusty old mansion where my romanticism of death was proved thoroughly unfounded. Before then, a thousand years ago at least and not long after my creation, I was sorting hat for Hogwarts for one year before being usurped by that ungrateful scrap of cloth belonging to Godric Gryffindor. The other wizards around my master claimed I cheated and sorted the best into Slytherin house, which was true, of course. I also refused to sort anything except for purebloods, which didn't please the blood traitors that ran the other houses, to be sure. When they refused to use me for another sorting, my master became angry and put a curse on me which the blood traitor Gryffindor tried to counter. Upon finding that he couldn't completely erase the curse, he placed a stipulation on it as well. Not that it mattered. I never touched another person's head after that, and my curse was never bestowed on some unlucky muggleborn looking for acceptance where they were clearly not wanted.

A moment after I heard the voice, a face came with it, peeking its way around the door of the library where I was being kept. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant face. The eyes were bright and the mouth quirked up in a pleasant smile. But once she had leaned in a little further I could see that her hair was a vivid pink, which clashed horribly with her orange jumper and pumpkin earrings. Her blood status seemed to roll off her in waves; a pureblood would never allow herself to look so unrefined.

"Wotcher, Remus!" she turned to shout into the hallway before pushing the door open the rest of the way to step inside. "I think this might be it. This room isn't as dusty as the rest of it. And…" she stopped, eyes transfixed on the fire which was blazing unchecked in the fireplace. The ghosts always went full force into making the place terrifying in case any one ever wondered in and I reminded myself to compliment them later. They were mindless idiots for the most part, but the fire in the grate of the otherwise abandoned mansion was a pleasant touch, even I could admit.

"What?" said another voice, an older man this time, as he stepped into the room. He seemed to see what had her mystified almost instantly. With a quick nod to each other they both raised their wands, and a wave swept through the room as the man cast a silent _humenum revelio_. Not being human does have its advantages though, and I went unnoticed.

The girl shrugged and lowered her wand, but just barely, before turning away. I wondered if she knew that the man, shabbily dressed but with an air of someone desperate to impress, continued to watch her long after she had looked away.

"Careful not to touch," he said, finally taking his eyes from her to look at the walls around them. I was in a dark corner, and not too concerned with being found straight away. "Dumbledore said the hat might be cursed."

"Cursed?" the girl asked, giving him a sideways smile even I knew he appreciated. She seemed to be doing an awful lot of looking at him too, truth be told, but I knew that they weren't lovers straight away. They had the nervous sort of energy about them that only almost lovers can have; it was the uneasy looks and the uncomfortable way they moved around each other gave them away. Would be lovers, I suppose you could call them. The kind that when you look at them you feel like you're glancing into the future.

You'll have to forgive me, of course. Being alone for one thousand years I do tend to wax poetic sometimes, a surprising trait for a dark object, but a habit nonetheless.

"What crazy old codger would curse a hat?" the girl asked, using her wand to illuminate a stack of old books. I ruffled my brim and gave a soft snort, which caused the two to once again share a look. "Did you…?"

The man raised his hand to silence her, moving quietly around the room to ensure once more they were alone. When no one was found he repeated the spell to reveal human presence. She shrugged again.

"Must have been me. I'm dead clumsy. Probably brushed against the table here," she said. The man's concentrated face broke into a tiny smile, like a secret he kept between them. He looked down immediately, pretending to search a shelf but looking amused despite himself.

"Stealth and tracking, eh?"

"Watch it, you."

"Right. Of course."

I watched them as they continued to circle their way around the room, sifting through papers and examining shelves. They didn't talk to each other for a few moments but I could still feel the tension as they brushed up against one another, as if they each found the other to be unavoidable. As for myself, I found the living to be quite amusing, half bloods or not.

I held my breath as the girl moved close to me, her wand moving over the shelves and illuminating her path. I sat perfectly still and waited to be discovered. Imagine my surprise when the light skipped over me and she turned back to the man.

"You find anything?" she asked. The man straightened, wincing. He seemed to think he was older than he was.

"No. Not in here. It must be upstairs like we first thought."

I watched in amazement as they moved to go to the door, wondering what to do. I didn't have the faintest idea who this 'Dumbledore' character could be (and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to be found by two half bloods that were so incapable as wizards that they couldn't find something as simple as a hat) but the idea of spending the next thousand years by myself wasn't appealing either. Assuming, of course, that the house lasted even another twenty years. Most likely I would find myself discarded in the trash or worse… upon the head of some strange muggle.

"Merlin's name!" I shouted, and they spun around with wands drawn, looking for the source of the noise. "You _must_ be halfbloods to take so long. A pureblood would have found me in half the time, I'd think."

"Where are you? Come out now!" the man shouted, eyes scanning the room. If I'd had eyes, I would have rolled them.

"And what would you have me do? Crawl out? I'm on the shelf, you fool!"

"There!" the girl said, gesturing to my darkened shelf with her wand. They both turned to look at me, the girl gawking. Apparently the person who had sent them to look for me hadn't told them I could speak.

"You can talk!" she said, moving closer. They both stopped directly in front of me, moving the light up and down to take in all my angles. I puffed out just a little, offended.

"Well spotted, halfblood! You're more intelligent than my master gave you credit for." Her face, formally bright, took on a weary sort of annoyance at my words, and I watched her turn to look at the man next to her. The man, however, seemed distracted as he looked for something.

"What did we do with that sack to put it in? Did you lie it down?" he asked, looking around. She glanced down into her empty hand and swore.

"Bugger. I must have done."

"Stay there. I'll look for it while you keep an eye on the hat."

He moved away out of our little circle of light and I could see him moving around the corners of the room, dim like a shadow. Meanwhile the girl kept her wand pointed to my face, light pouring out of it but clearly ready to attack if I made any wrong moves. Which amused me greatly, you must know… being a hat and all. I realize I am unusual because I can talk and am extremely intelligent, but the idea of my spurting flames from my brim or legs I can run away on was a touch ridiculous.

It seems though, after all those years, that I am still like my master in at least one way. The more these wizards amused me, the meaner I wanted to be to them.

"You are a halfblood, aren't you? There's no use denying it. I can practically smell it on you," I said, watching her reaction closely.

She ignored me, but I was not deterred.

"Filth. You are a shame to wizards and witches alike."

Nothing.

"Dirty."

Her eyes tightened into a glare. Finally I was starting to get a reaction.

"Nasty mudblood."

"You find that bag yet?" she called back, voice shaking with the first stirrings of anger. It seemed to stimulate me somehow, knowing she was becoming upset. This was what I had missed the most: emotion, that palpable thing that separated the living and the dead. Any emotion-- even anger -- would do.

"Not yet," the man called from the dimly lit opposite end of the room.

"Hurry up. I hear enough of this mess at headquarters from my cow of an Aunt."

"Your Aunt?" I asked, and her attention was brought reluctantly back to me. "Am I to believe that you could have any pure blood in your veins? I highly doubt that."

"We should take you back to headquarters," she said, her jaw tight and her eyes no longer dancing. She was trying to look unaffected and failing miserably. "Mrs. Black would just love you."

"Black?" I shouted, and she jumped a little. I felt heady with power and tried to rein it in. The last time I'd been this cruel I had found myself abandoned by the bitter young man in this very room. He hadn't been nearly as fun, though. "You are related to the Noble House of Black? I don't believe it! Am I to understand they all turned halfblood and blood traitor as well? I confess I find that disappointing."

"All right now. That's enough," she said, finally looking annoyed. Her eyes were shining darkly in the light from her wand.

"No, I don't think it is. Did I hurt your feelings, halfblood? I didn't know your kind had those. Do animals have feelings?"

"That's it," she said, moving towards me.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked.

"What? Worried about my dirty muggle blood?" she spat. Behind her there was a scuffle as the man tried to cross the room but even his shout of, "Don't!" couldn't stop her free hand from closing around my brim. I watched her eyes roll back in her head as she slumped slowly towards the floor, her hair fading to a light brown and growing to her shoulders. The man reached out to cushion her fall, following her to the ground with his eyes sweeping over her, shaking her gently as if he thought she might be asleep.

"Nymphadora? Tonks?"

"Damn," I said calmly. His eyes swept up from her to me. The look in his eyes went deeper than any emotion I had yet to see on a wizard, and I confess I was fascinated. Had there been something there between these two people that went beyond mere flirtation? Was this an emotion deeper than fear or even hate that I had yet to see?

"What did you do?" he asked, voice steady and clear. He was the kind of man that spoke with his face, not his words. A quirk of an eyebrow, a half smile, a look deep beneath his eyes… that was how men like him confessed their fear… and love.

"I did nothing," I said ruffling my brim. "I advised her not to touch me. You told her yourself that I was probably cursed."

"What kind of curse?" he asked.

"A blood curse."

He looked down at her, the girl that a moment ago had been so vibrant and alive, and jerked in surprise as blood began to pool around her left hand, the hand that had touched me. There was no visible wound and no matter how hard he tried to stem the blood flow it continued to pour out, soaking the carpeted floor. Within moments her skin had turned pallor and ashy, and the look in his eyes had multiplied into a desperate sort of fear.

"How can I stop it? There has to be a counter curse," he said. Now his voice was trembling but it didn't incite the usual amusement in me. I had an idea-- a new, almost foreign idea-- that if she died he would lose that look in his eye along with that secret smile and never feel anything ever again.

"There is," I said, feeling a twinge of something myself. "Because it is a blood curse, blood must be spilled to end it. It requires either half the blood of a pure blood or all the blood of a half blood."

I didn't have to ask which he was, I had known when he walked in and I was proved right by the look of growing despair in his eyes. He looked down at the small body in front of him, orange jumper becoming soaked by blood, and back at me.

"So, one of us has to die."

"It would seem so." I said, not taking pleasure out of the lie.

He hesitated for a brief moment, too brief really to consider something as big as a life, before moving his wand to his arm. He had placed it against his flesh and was about to whisper an incantation when I couldn't take it any longer. Maybe the years had changed me. Maybe they had made me something different, though for better or worse I couldn't yet say. All I knew was that this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a thousand years; these wizards stumbling in with their emotions stacked between them like an elaborate, beautiful mess, and I couldn't let this be the end to it.

"Wait!"

He looked up at me, his face frozen and pale with fear. He looked like a ghost already. Trust me, I would know. I've seen my fair share.

"Only one drop," I said. Fear melted into confusion.

"What?"

"Of blood. Only one drop, into her palm."

"But you said"

"Never mind that! One drop directly in her palm."

He once more placed the wand lightly on his skin, this time on his palm, and whispered a soft incantation. One soft drop of blood bloomed there, and with a turn of his hand it was sliding out of his palm and into hers like a gift. There was a long silent moment, with only the crackling of the fire and the distant moaning of the ghosts in the background. Perhaps they were upset that there would not be guests joining them tonight. At any rate, the blood stopped flowing from the girl's hand, and a moment later she had taken a breath. Everything happened quickly after that: I saw her eyes flutter open and his body collapse over hers, clutching her to him. And though he didn't say anything I could read his emotions in the shape of his back and the tremble in his arms. Like I had noticed earlier, it said everything his words didn't.

"A stipulation," I said quietly, almost to myself. I was used to talking to myself. "Made by someone who admired courage above all. That only one drop of blood would be required by he that is pure not of blood but of heart."

But if either of them heard me, they didn't acknowledge it. He pulled back from her and I saw the confusion etched on her face, having no knowledge of what had just transpired. Slowly her face turned from confusion, to surprise, to anticipation and wonder, and it was the look in his eyes (though I couldn't see it) that seemed to be the catalyst for the change. There was something there between them, no longer a mess but still somehow beautiful, and I actually forced myself to not look as they held each other. This emotion was greater than all the others I had coerced out of them thus far, and this was the only one that made me ache to be part of them. It was the only thing that could possibly tempt me into wanting the petty fears and worries that clouded their thoughts constantly. I wouldn't mind being among the living, if anyone ever looked that way at me.

I didn't think they were going to be 'almost lovers' for much longer, and any new developments between them would probably cause nothing but trouble. But that's the living for you. They think they know everything, and they make decisions based out of their hearts with no regard to the consequences.

And for that as well, I envied them.


End file.
